


Rocks Fall

by brainofck



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Burn Notice, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Never to Be Finished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainofck/pseuds/brainofck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor said, "There is a certain location.  And from this location, an item is being shipped to another location…  Now, we're going to hijack the something."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocks Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Bunny Euthanasia Project (see end notes).
> 
> This one is under option 1: "Post your notes as they are and let the bunny die a graceful death." So you get the part I actually WROTE, plus some notes at the end. And that is it. Sorry. :/
> 
> You may recall, waaaay back in late 2008, I became obsessed with trying to do a fic with these three guys:
> 
> Samuel Anders  
> 
> 
> John Sheppard  
> 
> 
> Michael Westen  
> 
> 
> To quote myself: "…Equals some kind of super hot threesome if only I can come up with a viable plot device to put them all together..."
> 
> Well, I did find a viable plot device. It just took me too long.
> 
> This story is being euthanized for a number of reasons. First, when I conceived the idea, the Carla/Victor arc was not resolved on Burn Notice, we still didn't know the final Cylon, much less the ending of Battlestar Galactica, and I think SGA was still on the air. Once we had the in-canon resolutions of a bunch of things, I felt this crossover really became EVEN LESS relevant. AU crossover? Not so much.
> 
> Also, as you will see, I am trying to write in the style of Burn Notice from the perspective of Michael Westen. I think I suck at it.

_  
**2008.09.18, 0841**   
_

I stood outside the door, waiting for Conoy to work his magic on the electronic lock, image of the target in my mind. My memory of the glossy photo was as clear as if I held it in my hand. Spies who can develop photographic or near-photographic memories get farther in the world.

I heard the soft hum-buzz of the lock opening. I moved fast to be sure I would be the first one in the room. I would rather have let my team go first, as I didn't really know them that well, and frankly didn't trust them not to shoot me in the back, but my concern about innocent bystanders in this scenario was high. Keep collateral damage down. Keep the operation clean.

I spotted the target. He was sitting huddled on a cot in the glass cube at the end of the lab, wrapped in a light blanket, his feet bare, ankles disappearing into green scrubs. He jumped up as we came in, his white-coated minders whirling around in surprise. Nobody went for a weapon.

"Get down on the floor!" I yelled at them authoritatively.

They all hit the ground fast. Of course they all knew we were coming.

That's when the black helicopters arrived.

Well, not that we could see the black helicopters from inside the facility. But the Deltas were pouring in from all around us.

I reached for the stun weapon Victor, _no, Daniel_ , had given me, rolling to the floor, squeezing the zat to life. But Daniel was faster than I was, taking down Conoy, Simon and Doral in rapid succession.

I guess we shouldn't have worried. Zats worked just fine on "space robots."

The Deltas swarmed the downed men.

I stood there, staring around a lab where a frightened man was being studied in a box. I think I'd rather have stayed burned than gotten mixed up with this kind of new employer.

Possibly it was a little late now to be having these kinds of revelations.

* * *

 _  
**2008.08.30, 1533**   
_

VICTOR  
THE HANDLER

Victor was _of course_ lounging under a breach umbrella. I'd just broken traffic laws to get there in fifteen minutes. I'd been in this business too long to be annoyed at the power play. When you're dealing with people like Carla and Victor, it's better not to be distracted by fantasies of how many ways you could kill him with, oh, that piece of driftwood over there, or the suntan lotion bottle, or the tiny little baby beach umbrella in his glass. Nope. No unprofessional fantasies at all.

"OK. Class is in session," Victor began, "Now listen carefully. I'm only gonna say this once."

He picked up the driftwood stick that would be great for shoving between his ribs into his lungs and started sketching in the sand.

"There is a certain location. And from this location an item is being shipped to another location," Victor mock-lectured.

"Whoa, slow down. Something is being shipped from somewhere to somewhere else. I think I follow," I had to say for the sake of form.

"Now we're going to hijack the something," Victor continued.

"What's the something?" It was a logical question. Maybe I'd even get an answer.

"Sounds like someone's got a case of the need-to-knows," Victor replied with a sort of bland annoyance. "Left untreated, that could prove fatal, Michael. Dismissed."

He picked up his book again, then said, like an afterthought, but not, "Traffic is brutal this time of day. You should probably hustle if you're headed back to…" he paused to look at his phone, "…Biscayne Boulevard."

So. The whole point of the meeting was to tell me that he knew where I was at all times. And possibly to remind me that Carla didn't really want me working off the reservation, though honestly, how these people thought I was going to put yogurt in the fridge at the rates they were paying was beyond me.

* * *

I pulled the phone apart that night. I knew, of course I knew, that there was a satellite tracker in the phone, but it pays to confirm even the most basic assumptions.

Tucked into the phone right next to the custom tracking installation was a message, printed in block letters on an accordion-folded post-it note.

 _The Tides. Amber Suite. 11pm._

Huh.

"Hey, Fi? What do you know about The Tides?"

"Nice digs. The barman in the Coral Bar is _very_ attractive. As is their head masseur. If you're booking for us, be sure to schedule a couples massage," she said with a glowing smile.

"Sorry, another time, Fi. I think I have an appointment."

* * *

 _  
**2008.08.30, 2259**   
_

The hat hung on the doorknob of the closet and a jacket with an impressive history on the chest was flung across the back of the sitting room chair. Still, two stars did _not_ explain even the cheapest of The Tide's luxury suites.

The jacket's owner was sprawled on the couch. He had a beer in his right hand, but there was a gun on the coffee table and his left hand, on the gun side, was empty. A general might not still be up on his left-handed shooting. But then again, the guy might be left handed. The Mk 23 suggested special ops, even if the ribbons hadn't told me that already.

"General," I said.

"Call me 'Jack,'" said the general. "Fondue?" he offered, gesturing to the pot of chocolate on the table by his gun.

GENERAL JONATHAN C. "JACK" O'NEILL  
THE CLIENT

"You shouldn't have," I replied, giving him The Smile. "If I had realized Victor was setting up a booty call for a major general, I'd have worn something different."

Jack made a mournful face.

"When Daniel asked me to come down, I admit I had higher hopes for the weekend," he said. "No sense wasting perfectly good chocolate."

"So why _did_ 'Daniel' ask you to come down?" I asked. Whoever Daniel was.

"This isn't a booty call, Westen. It's a bailout. Did you know Carla is a robot from outer space?" Jack said, as he leaned forward to push the various fruits and cookies around with one finger. He picked up a shortbread wedge off the tray and swirled it in the warm chocolate.

OK. That wasn't what I was expecting. The briefest moment of hope that the end of my personal torment had arrived in the form of a two-star general in his Class A's, dashed in a heartbeat as I realize this guy is either a whack job or a con artist who thinks I'm really, _really_ gullible.

"So. This is not going to be a serious conversation, then? I have better things to do at midnight. Like sleep."

"Nothing more serious than space robots. Trust me," Jack said drily, helping himself to a strawberry next. "You sure you won't…" he offered again, holding out the fruit. I didn't even bother to wave him off. He shrugged and popped it into his mouth.

"A robot from outer space burned me so I could help her hijack something?" I said, mostly to humor him and hurry this idiotic encounter along.

"Well, not just any old thing," Jack assured me. "We think she's here, on planet Earth, that is, looking for other robots. We've got one at Area 51."

Jack was watching me across his pot of sweet smelling goo.

Whack job? Con artist? Still not sure.

"So. Let me guess. My ticket back out of this burn notice is to use Carla's hijack to help the Air Force capture her and prevent her from stealing the other space robot?"

Jack nodded, as if this wasn't the most ridiculous thing I had ever said to anyone.

"We're getting ready to ship the unit at Area 51 off-world. What I need you to do is be sure that Carla doesn't hijack the robot. I want you to help Daniel to be sure it gets on _The Daedalus_. I need someone there to back him up whose personal agenda I can trust to be synchronized with my agenda."

"Right," I said slowly. "You do realize you are completely insane?" I give him The Smile again. "No offense," I say, with a nod of deference to his gun.

"I didn't really think you'd buy it on the first pitch," Jack replied amiably. "Just keep it in mind when you're breaking into a secure facility in Nevada to extract _this_ guy."

Jack reached down into his open briefcase and pulled out an 8x10 glossy of a man in scrubs standing in the middle of a big glass containment cell.

Victor's phone in my pocket rang. Jack made a shooing gesture, so I pulled it out.

"Yes?" I answered.

"Done yet?" Victor asked, sounding irritable.

"Getting there," I said.

"Well, hurry up."

"Tell Daniel you're leaving right now so get his ass up here. I've got liquid chocolate and coffee," Jack said loudly.

"I heard that," Victor muttered. "He knows it's too dangerous to meet in Miami. Hurry up." The phone went dead.

"So what I don't get…" I said as I shut the phone, giving it the evil eye as I put it away, "…is what you need me for. Can't 'Daniel' there just take care of it?"

Jack smiled thinly.

"We both know what you can do. Daniel's not in your league. If you're not playing our game, Daniel on his own can't stop you. Plus, this looks like it's going to break out into a two piece operation. You and Daniel might not be on the same parts of the job. _That_ ," Jack pointed at the photo, "needs to be on _The Daedalus_ and off this planet _yesterday_. You can't let Carla stop that."

I didn't try not to look skeptical.

Jack flopped back on the couch and draped his arm over his eyes.

"Go. We're giving Daniel a heart attack keeping you up here."

Fine by me. I headed for the door, keeping one eye on Jack.

"Oh, right. How could I forget?" he said suddenly.

Sitting up, Jack reached into his briefcase again and brought out a strange, metallic object, egg-shaped, but larger.

"This is a zat. Advanced non-lethal – well, somewhat lethal – technology. One shot, it acts like a taser. Two shots kill, though, so go light. It's got a stupid firing mechanism and it's noisy to activate, but it does work like a charm for certain situations."

As he spoke he demonstrated. He squeezed the egg, and it opened into an S-shaped device, probably designed to look like a snake. It _was_ noisy to activate, making a crackling whine. He held it pointed away from us. He squeezed it again, showing me the change in grip, and the thing collapsed shut again.

"Too loud to actually fire it here, plus I don't want to owe any damages on the room. Go somewhere quiet. Shoot an alligator or something. Just don't draw attention to yourself. That's alien technology. I don't want to have to go confiscate it from some curious local sheriff."

He tossed it across the room to me.

I left.

 

* * *

 _  
**2008.09.10, 1138**   
_

"Hello, Michael," Victor said as he sat down at the café table.

"You're late," I replied, crunching some crudités and doing my best not to seem the slightest bit interested in what 'Victor' might have to say.

"The boss doesn't have to make excuses," Victor said blandly. He snagged his own celery stick.

I leaned back and pointedly did not glare as he sampled the cheese sauce on his next bite, then tried it again on a mild pepper. Finally, he dabbed his fingers off on this still folded napkin and leaned back in his own chair, mimicking me.

"We think you're ready to make some new friends," Victor said, direct and to the point. He pushed back his chair and stood.

"Settle the check. Meet me at the corner in five minutes. Don't bring along the Bloodhound Gang."

* * *

"So, Michael, meet the team," said Victor.

Nice team.

"Small group exercise?" I asked him. "Just the four of us?"

"Well. Five," Victor said, with that charming, manic, chip-toothed grin. "And Carla will be backing us up on the outside. The air support isn't your issue. This is the extraction team."

I turned to the tall, skinny black guy folded into the arm chair in the corner.

"And you would be?"

"I am Simon," he said with a regal bow of his head.

SIMON  
THE WEAPONS EXPERT

"Mr. N'Kojo is an expert in small arms. Large arms. Really fucking big guns. Of all kinds," Victor supplied helpfully.

"I don't need an arms expert for a hijacking." I could hardly stop myself from sniffing in an insulted huff.

" _Really_ fucking big guns," Victor said reassuringly, grinning the psycho grin again. Simon just shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

I turned to the second guy.

"Red Doral," he said, before I could ask or Victor could introduce him. He came across the room, hand extended. "I'm your robotics expert. And I know nothing about this commando military stuff. Frankly, you all scare the piss out of me. But hey. Better than grant money!"

DR. AARON "Red" DORAL  
PhD, ROBOTIC ENGINNEERING

Red stood there, hand extended, grinning with painful insincerity, until I put him out of his misery and shook his hand.

"And this," said Victor with a flourish, "Is Leoben Conoy, our inside man."

LEOBEN CONOY  
INSIDE MAN

"Then what's he doing here?" I ask, not sounding exasperated at all because I don't really care.

"I had some vacation coming to me," Conoy replied for himself.

Every single one of them made my skin crawl.

* * *

 _  
**2008.09.18, 0846**   
_

So I was not at all sad to see the three of them go down under a swarm of black uniforms.

As soon as I knew the other guys were down, I went to my knees, hands behind my head. No sense being hit by one of those zat things, or worse, live fire, because somebody didn't get the memo about the double agents. (Or because the double agents were going to get swept up with the rest of the garbage regardless. That was a risk I figured I was probably taking.)

I was watching the guy in the box. He flinched away from the scene in the lab, retreating as far as he could from everyone, picking up his blanket again and withdrawing into the farthest corner.

He didn't look disappointed at the failed rescue. He looked afraid.

Victor, now Daniel again, I supposed, made his way through the organized chaos just as one of the Rangers stopped in front of me and saluted.

"The enemy is neutralized and we know you're not one of them, sir!" he said smartly, with only the slightest hint of amusement lurking at the edges of his stony composure.

"Great, thanks," I said, as Daniel offered me a hand up. When the guy was clearly waiting for me to return his salute, I did, and I didn't like it one bit.

"That General O'Neill guy isn't going to try to recall me to active duty, is he?" I asked Daniel, watching the Rangers going about their business.

"It's an interesting thought, but no, I'm more than fine with offering you a civilian contractor position. We could use a good, experienced covert operative working for us, for a change, instead of always relying on the damned Tok'ra for that."

Daniel looked up sharply, as I turned to face O'Neill, coming up on me from behind.

"Did you get her?"

"Yup. Piece of cake. They're loading it up on _The Daedalus_ now, along with all it's playmates."

"She," Daniel corrected absently.

"Daniel, they're robots. I. T. IT." O'Neill replied. "Worse than Replicators," he muttered.

"How, Jack?" Daniel demanded angrily. I could tell this was the continuation of a long argument. Daniel waved to the guy in the box, currently changing into standard issue green BDUs under the watchful eye of half a dozen Rangers. Six highly trained commandos? Seemed like overkill to me.

"Sam is just a poor confused mathematician who likes to play basketball on the weekend. He doesn't have any secret mission to destroy the Earth. His anatomy is human in every way we can study. We only know he's one of them because Carla identified him. For all we know, based on that, _I_ could be a Cylon! I worked for Carla, didn't I? Or _you_ could be. She just hasn't gotten to you yet!"

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you're going to Pegasus with them, then, isn't it? You can protect their civil rights from all the people who think they're worse than Replicators," O'Neill replied tartly. He turned his attention back to me.

"According to our intel, there are supposed to be twelve models of these things. We only have eight of them, which leaves four possibly roaming free to continue whatever Carla's got planned. As of this moment, I'd like to offer you a job with Stargate Command, first assignment being to accompany these space robots to Pegasus and get Carla to tell you where the other four are and what she wanted them for."

I gave him The Smile, thinking if _that_ was what he wanted, I would have really fucking _appreciated_ it if he had let Carla slip the net, rather than picking her up with the rest of her boys.

"Sure!" I said chirpily, The Smile firmly in place. Interrogation could give me clues on how best to continue the hunt for the rest of them. And trip in a space ship to another galaxy? Why not?

-And here ends the part I wrote –

And so, they jaunt off to the Pegasus Galaxy, but the Cylons get to Earth anyway. As they are _en route_ , the Cylon fleet arrives and nukes Earth back to the Stone Age.

During the trip, of course, Michael and Sam get _very_ friendly.

The _Daedalus_ crew is sympathetic to Sam not being one of the responsible parties for what happened to Earth, but the Atlantis crowd is looking for blood. At which point, Sheppard is convinced by Daniel and Michael to whisk Sam away to protect him from the people who want revenge and also just in case the Cylons can find Atlantis by tracking Sam.

So Michael and Sam go trundling off through Pegasus in a jumper with Shep and McKay and they are all Big Damned Heroes. And this being slash, and all, yes, Shep mixes in with Michal and Sam.

I think I would have written Daniel making his way back to Earth to try and find Jack.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> So. The Bunny Euthanasia Project.
> 
> We all have them, lingering around, sniffling aimlessly around our hard drives, stinking up the place with their lingering pellets of guilt = zombie fic-bunnies, neither living nor dead.
> 
> Well, October is the month to give them life or euthanize them once and for all. Join us in our goal of emptying out the "dead bunnies" from our files. Any and all fandoms are encouraged to participate!
> 
> Do this in one of three ways:
> 
> 1\. post your notes as they are and let the bunny die a graceful death
> 
> 2\. give your bunny a Frankenstein-style half-life by polishing what you have and letting it stand as a ficlet or series of drabbles or whatever you can make out of it without too much effort
> 
> 3\. revive your bunnies and give them a life they deserve, fully realized as actual fics
> 
> 



End file.
